Admiral's Fall

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Friend or Foe identification systems are reading Old Confederation signals identical to ships we encountered in Black Purgatory, Sir,” reported a com-tech manning the IFF console.

  Admiral Manning immediately tensed.

  “They followed us to Hart’s World,” growled Senior Captain Rogers.

  Manning’s eyes narrowed as an instantaneous pre-battle calculation flashed through his mind. He winced with pain before shoving those feelings to the side. They’d just been so close.

  There was no more time for retrospective. It was time to see if he could better Montagne or if what was left of First Fleet after the MSP and its allies split off was about to be destroyed.

  “All ships, begin high-speed maneuvers toward enemy fleet upon receipt of this command. All ships are to release bucking cables and immediately begin detaching the towed warships,” ordered Manning.

  Seconds later, the captain of Manning’s flagship appeared on the screen.

  “Sir, there is risk to the flagship if we attempt to perform both maneuvers at once. Given the size of the attached Battleship, we could damage our main hyper dish, I’m concerned that—” said the Captain.

  Admiral Manning interrupted him.

  “Engage the engines now, Captain! We’ll have to risk the main dish. We have a short window and I mean to seize it,” barked the Admiral.

  The Captain stiffened. “Aye aye, Sir,” said the Captain, bracing to attention before disregarding the still open channel to hurry over and start barking orders at the crew of the command bridge.

  “I just hope we make it in time,” prayed Manning.

  “Will there be anything else, Admiral?” asked the Senior Captain, eyes still looking away at the now abandoned or being abandoned warships that were the prize and result of so much hard work.

  Manning hesitated and then his head jerked abruptly. “Good reminder, CoS,” he turned his Comm. Officer. “New message to the fleet; I want half the shuttles loaded with Marines and a small engineering team. Then the warships are to have a crew manually pushed out of each shuttle bay on a ballistic course. After they are clear of their ship and the fleet is between them and the enemy, I want the shuttles to use a low power maneuver and move to our rear,” said Manning.

  “Where are they intended for, Sir?” Rogers prompted.

  “Using their own discretion and starting with our largest ships and working their way down, I want our shuttles to enter those ships. If possible, they are to engage the engines of those ships. If not, I want them ready and able to tow them,” Manning said flatly. “No matter what, the Marines are to give our enemy the Glorious Fleet the fight of their lives. We will not just give up those warships without a fight,” the Grand Admiral finished tightly.

  “Aye aye, Sir,” said the Captain.

  While the ships of the Glorious Fleet were still extending engine baffling and beginning to engage secondary weaponry, the ships of the Spineward Sectors First Fleet made their move.

  Like a staggered wave moving toward the shore, the ships of First Fleet in their one’s and two's, and then by broken squadrons released the captured and damaged warships attached to their hulls and immediately began to burn back in the direction of Vice Admiral Beecher’s contingent of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation.

  “Give me an ETA on those Spineward Sectors Fleet warships,” ordered Fleet Tactician Comet Buster, her voice taking on a serious tone not previously present.

  The flag bridge’s navigator quickly ran the numbers and reported back.

  Monica Comet Buster let out a sigh of relief and then straightened her shoulders. With a flexible bend of the waist, she turned and moved over to the tactical section of the flag bridge.

  “Good, they won’t get here before Task Force Beecher has broken free of the sumps,” said the Fleet Tactician, bending over the tactical officer’s console to type something in.

  She turned to speak directly to a com-tech in the communications department.

  “Technician Suttlebee, prepare to open a channel to the captains of the fleet,” she instructed.

  “Is there a problem, Monica?” asked Vice Admiral Beecher, sweeping into the room unnoticed and then sitting in the captain’s chair like a monarch resuming the throne. The only thing that spoiled his near majestic entrance was the way he promptly plopped a leg over the arm of the chair and took a wet bite out of an apricot.

  The Lieutenant Commander turned instinctively and had to suppress a frown at the sight of a trail of fruit juice dribbling down the side of the Vice Admiral’s chin.

  “Hmm?” Beecher asked, voice sharpening as Monica Comet Buster stared blankly at him.

  “Not a problem as such, Sir, but the captains need to immediately form up on the flagship. We jumped closer to the Spineward Sectors Fleet than expected and our formation is…scattered,” she reported.

  Justin Beecher’s sharp look turned into an outright glare. “I pay you to win battles for me, not to craft excuses, Mrs. Comet Buster. If you can’t handle this job…” he trailed off in an outright threatening voice.

  “That’s 'Lieutenant Commander Comet Buster,' not 'Mrs',” the Fleet Tactician said immediately stiffening angrily.

  “I don’t pay for back talk either, Mrs. Lieutenant Commander or Queen of the Nile, I’ll call you whatever I wish until you start providing me the victories I pay you for. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, MY LADY!” Beecher shouted.

  “Your point couldn’t be made any more obvious…sir,” the Fleet Tactician bit out.

  “I don’t like snark, Mrs. Comet Buster, and make no mistake I have enough clout to crush you like a bug when we get back to civilization. So by all that’s unholy in this world you’d better not lose this fleet—or worse, get me killed. You can consider this your first and last warning,” warned Admiral Beecher.

  “I’ll make sure to remember that. But I’d like you to remember that your losses wouldn’t have been as bad as they were if you hadn’t confined me to my quarters and the flag deck for the last month before the battle of Black Purgatory, Sir,” she retorted.

  “That’s not my fault! Praetor Cornwallis was a living legend. Who would know that he would fall just like that,” Beecher snapped his fingers angrily, “with him in command of our fleet your services were simply not needed. At least not until that war criminal Jason Montagne violated the laws of war and started to use weapons of mass destruction! I assure you, he’ll hang for that as soon as his lawless actions are reported back to the Grand Assembly!” said Beecher. “The use of W-M-D has been outlawed for over three hundred years in this region of space and more than a millennium in the heartland! Not since a few over eager abolitionists mistakenly dropped nukes instead of EMP’s on a factory plantation has an attack like this taken place in Confederation space!”

  “Unlike the inestimable Praetor, I cannot guarantee results. I can only do my best and, in the process, grind these locals into space rubble,” said Comet Buster.

  “I’ll hold you to that or your fate will be like this,” Beecher said, dropping his half eaten apricot on the deck and then stepping on it with his boot grinding his foot into it until it turned into a streak of yellow mush.

  The Fleet Tactician nodded jerkily, her eyes shooting fury she turned back to the rest of the bridge.

  “Tell the Task Force Beecher captains that, for any ship which fails to form up on the Vice Admiral’s flagship before the enemy arrives, the crew will be put on half rations and the officers will endure three hours of punishment training administered by the Confederation Marine Corps—without fail!” she said sharply.

  “Will do, Tactician,” com-tech Suttlebee trembled as he quickly turned back to activate a channel and relay her orders.

  Like two freak waves meeting in the middle of the ocean, the two fleets met with a crash that illuminated the cold space surrounding it with a burst of furious energy and multiple explosions.

  By the time two thirds of Task Force Beecher had assembled into a rough formation around the flagship,
the Spineward Sectors forces had assumed a ragged, wedge-shaped formation.

  Under the command of Admiral Manning, First Fleet shifted its attack vector one minute before the two formations interpenetrated and attacked at a point directly between the edge of the center third and the ragged third of Task Force Beecher

  With their superior speed, and ragged-but-still-tighter formation than their foes, Admiral Manning’s warships shattered the unassembled third of Task Force Beecher. Like a hammer striking an egg shell, those warships directly in the path of First Fleet broke away and ran.

  “Fire!” ordered Manning, pounding the side of his chair twice in quick succession before grabbing hold of the arms of his chair and leaning forward.

  Maneuvering between a pair of Glorious Fleet warships, with a Battleship on one side and a Heavy Cruiser on the other, Manning’s flagship opened fire with both broadsides simultaneously.

  Heavy Lasers fired first in one coordinated salvo, weakening Glorious Fleet shields and then every turbo-laser in the broadside followed up, with each bank of turbo-lasers firing at the same target on each enemy ship.

  “Our new quad-linked turbo-lasers have found a weak spot, Captain!” the Fleet’s Admiral could hear a Tactical Officer exclaim over the still-open channel between the Captain and Admiral.

  The Heavy Cruiser’s shields began to glow as the port broadside punched through scorching armor, digging deep into the hull.

  “Yes!” the top Tactical Officer on the flag bridge exclaimed happily as the Heavy Cruiser started losing atmosphere. “Port turbo-laser battery has just punched through. I’d say our new quad-linked turbo-battery setup has just proved its merit.”

  “We’ll have to make sure and add an addendum to my report back home on the battle for Black Purgatory,” said Manning as his flagship continued to advance deep into the enemy’s scattered formation.

  Behind the flagship, a staggered formation made up of two squadrons of Battleships followed the Grand Admiral right into the middle of the enemy fleet.

  Leaving behind them a double handful of heavily damaged and out of action warships, First Fleet dug itself deep into the enemy formation before the Glorious Fleet’s weight of numbers began to tell.

  “Admiral, we can’t keep advancing like this. If we go any further the Glorious Fleet will be between us and Hart’s World. If they choose to attack there’ll be nothing we can do about it. We must withdraw!” urged Senior Captain Rogers as First Fleet’s momentum took them through the Glorious Fleet’s formation and out the other side. “We can fight our way back through but if they get into Hart’s System and take out its orbital industry, everything we’ve worked so hard for will be gone.”

  “No. If we lose this Fleet everything will be gone, but if we win—if we win, Rogers...” Manning said flatly, but a fiery passion burned in his eyes that belied his tone. It was clear the Admiral was ready for a battle all the way to the finish.

  “We can still fight our way back. They outnumber us by more than twenty warships, Admiral,” said Rogers.

  “Ten minutes ago it was thirty. We have the momentum,” Manning said with fire in his eyes.

  “Many of our ships were damaged to one degree or another before this battle. Most of theirs were almost untouched. You can also see from Black Purgatory and the first engagement here their lasers punch 8% harder and their focusing arrays let them hit 5% further than our lasers of the same category. Heavy for Heavy and Turbo for Turbo, their lasers just hit harder and we’re fighting hurt, Sir,” said his Chief of Staff.

  “Then what’s your blasted solution, cut and run?” Admiral Manning demanded as his flag ship ranged on a fleeing Light Cruiser.

  The starboard broadside smashed through its shields and proceeded to knock out half its engines as each battery fired one after the other.

  “If we punch back through and fall back on Hart’s fixed defenses, our previous battle damage from Black Purgatory, or how badly we’re outnumbered here, will be irrelevant. There will also be additional warships retained at Hart’s World for a home guard. With luck we might even mount a counterattack,” he paused as a Heavy Cruiser and three Destroyers from First Fleet, all of them previously damaged, began launching escape pods. “Admiral, I implore you,” Rogers said urgently as First Fleet’s momentum faltered and it started to take damage instead.

  Admiral Manning’s eyes turned into a twin pair of black holes. His fists clenched until his knuckles popped. “Issue the order. Come about and punch back through the Glorious Fleet of Liberation. We won’t stop until we’re through the hyper limit and either fall back on Hart’s fortifications or are clear of the Confederation,” he ordered.

  “Aye aye, Admiral. The Admiral is a great tactician and strategist and we’ve already done great damage to the Glorious Fleet elements here. The reason we haven’t already crushed them where they stand is that blasted Jason Montagne. If the ‘Little Admiral’ hadn’t been so greedy and small minded with his warships…” Senior Captain Rogers said, gnashing his teeth.

  “Nothing here has anything to do with Grand Admiral Montagne. Today we rise or fall on our own efforts. In the future, carry out my orders with less commentary,” Manning said coldly.

  His Chief of Staff gave him a startled look and then saluted. “At once, Sir,” said the Senior Captain.

  “The locals are turning for another pass,” reported the sensor officer.

  Lieutenant Commander Comet Buster nodded.

  “It appears they want another engagement,” mused the regular Tactical Officer several meters to Comet Buster's left, “only this time we’re not jump scattered. Do you want to order the fleet into a new formation, Fleet Tactician?” the flag bridge’s top regular Tactical Officer asked eagerly.

  Monica peered at the battle plot as if lost in thought, one finger idly rubbing the corner of her mouth as if something was sticking there.

  She stopped, turned on her heel until she was facing away from the battle plot, and started issuing orders.

  “Prepare an englobement formation and detach three squadrons of Destroyers for a pursuit group. If the enemy attempts to break out I want the pursuit group hot on their engines. Instruct the group they are to begin accelerating toward the hyper limit now with the intention of swinging around behind and attacking the enemy’s engines after the locals pass them,” she instructed in a crisp, carrying voice.

  “Three squadrons, Fleet Tactician?” asked the ship’s commander, Captain Luke Pretorious. “If you detach so many warships it might make the risk of a breakout more serious,” he ended on an uncertain note.

  Fleet Tactician Comet Buster looked at him with contempt. “If they’re here for a knockdown drag-out battle then they’re not going anywhere, but if they try anything and I don’t have a countermeasure then I might as well shoot myself now rather than wait for Vice Admiral Beecher to find out,” she said scathingly.

  Justin Beecher, who had been leaning forward in his chair—excitedly eating buttered popcorn and popping what looked like dark, luscious wine grapes freshly plucked from the vine—nodded with a hint of admiration.

  “She really tells it like it is,” Beecher said, pointing a finger at Monica Comet Buster before digging around in the bottom of his popcorn bowl and plucking out an unpopped kernel. It promptly entered his mouth and split with an audible crunch.

  Captain Pretorious nodded eagerly but Monica Comet Buster’s lips made a thin red line.

  “I hope the Vice Admiral can showcase an appropriately noble and commanding demeanor when it comes time to relay my instructions to the rest of the fleet,” the Tactician said instead.

  Beecher rubbed the side of his jaw while nodding and then cracked a yawn. “I’ll be in my best condition for the next hour or two, but if this battle stretches boringly on beyond that I make no promises. Too much sitting in a chair,” he shook his head, “is no good.”

  Monica turned away in disgust. “As you say,” she said shortly, not looking away from the main screen.

/>   Slowly, a vicious expression crossed her face as the Fleet Tactician began to channel all of her inner rage—which she was unable to expose before her indolent employer—upon the enemy fleet.

  “Enemies of the Confederation of Worlds deserve to die,” she said in a hard voice.

  “They’re coming right for us! Helmsman, turn the ship seven degrees to starboard and go to 105% acceleration; engage all the maneuvering thrusters if you have to, just do it,” shouted the flagship’s captain, his voice crackling over a flickering com-channel.

  Admiral Manning held on tight to the arms of his command chair as the Battleship rocked around him, and Damage Control continued its litany of injuries sustained by the Battleship.

  “Three hull penetrations on the starboard side. Port engine compromised; engineering reports cooling system compromised, the engine will have to be taken off line for emergency repairs within five minutes. Estimated repair time an hour and thirty minutes with a full crew,” chanted the Damage Control officer before pulling up a new screen and continuing. “A major gash in the port side armor that barely missed the shield generator, however a main power line was compromised and the generator has been taken down for repairs when a critical systems overload tripped the emergency bypass breakers. In addition, the Chief Gunner reports every heavy laser on the port side has stopped functioning except Heavy Laser 19, which for some reason continues to work. The Chief Engineer swears it’s not a power line issue and asks us to urgently send a computer repair team to look for some kind of programming fault as Heavy Laser 19 is on the same system as the rest except that, due to battle damage in our previous engagement at Black Purgatory, it was used to replace a damaged turbo-laser and was placed in the same fire control battery as the turbo-lasers,” continued the Damage control officer.

  “Both our system analysts and the Distributed Intelligence showed grouping up our lasers by batteries was fine. Sweet son of Murphy, go and get a team to fix it,” Senior Captain Rogers snapped, glaring at the computer team on the flag bridge.